Bagikan

No Water Here, Babe

The story of the sick Rose is definitely very popular over the masses of literature throughout centuries from the first written by Blake in romanticism era. Poor Rose is not as famous as a died-young girl, Juliet, however, I do like her more not because she becomes a single victim in a love she belonged. If you are one of whom who have not even heard about her, here I will tell you briefly.

"O Rose, she is a beautiful lady as roses and has no color at first. A white blank paper. A crystal clear water. But the worm, the bastard, cuts her heart and spreads crimson blood over her..." said my contextual-stream lecturer.

(WTF!)

"Rose is a flower. A plant! And then a parasite worm comes by the blowing wind and it destroys its beautiful petals. Just it! You understand?" said my textual-stream lecturer.

"Rose is a symbol of woman and secrecy." said my feminist lecturer.

Well, it is enough! Shut my lecturers' traps. I persist that the girl we are talking about now has not that innocence and the worm not as badass. The roles are exchanged. She is nowadays Rose whose colors and motifs, sly as a fox, and sometimes hellcat she could be. Nevertheless, even the homers sometimes nod. A lovely worm came and shared positive energies to her, created one thousand and one dreams in a night. Then broke them, in a day. Believe me, that worm is a good man.

"Love is a cruelest trap. Love is an unpaid drug and an unstoppable plague," said I, a honest drunkard to a friend, the bartender.

"You don't even drunk to say that. Don't you promise him not to drink anymore?"

"Who cares?"

The bartender is looking at me intently. Two big diamonds in my eyes which cannot be broken. This blabby falcon seems yummy for supper.

"You're going to be a paranoiac, Babe. The sick Rose has died. Go dance! Now. A shy nice buddy is looking at you since five glass ago, ten cigarettes ago and twenty songs ago. Stop dramatizing the hospitality. Rose and the fucking worm, are like me and the guests!"

Yes, I dramatize all things. Yesterday, I laughed aloud when we made jokes. Thus I tore a lot when he was gone. I do love, not dramatizing or faking anything. I should take a bitter reality and throw away sweet lies. As usual. Many buddies want me in this club, but no one dares to get closer when I sit in front of the counter. We are the falcons wear veils.

"You're right. He never loves me. I misunderstood all things. A rude barbarian, can't learn about hospitality."

I can see his face hardened. I like his robotic expression, at least this falcon reminds me to another missing bastard, my father. "We can conclude, therefore, we never know the reality unless he talks."

"Can you give me a glass of water? Cold water?"

"No water here, Babe." The falcon tactfully replied.

"No doubt. You're right. He never loves me. I've just barked in a wrong tree. He has no love for me as you has no water. Then you two will offer something else to entertain me. Hospitality."

The falcon suddenly silent.

"He has someone else. Damn many months they had! I think it is more than hospitality, I think I will dance for them."